You're My Storm
by edisons
Summary: Quinn is a therapist working in New York City. When a certain brunette comes into her office one day, Quinn begins to feel more like a patient than a doctor. Rated M for  possible  future chapters. AU.
1. Hi, I'm Rachel Berry

Quinn Fabray rarely wore heels to work. Mostly, it was because by the end of the day, her feet felt like total shit. Yet, she told people it was because it freaked her patients out, the click-clack. It stopped her secretary from wearing heels, because in reality, the click-clack freaked _her _out.

However, today was a special day, or so her secretary said, so she wore heels. She was to meet with a celebrity, one who's name was to be announced. She was meeting them at 3:30 this afternoon, and she was looking forward to it.

Traditionally, one would think that because Quinn was the most successful therapist in New York City, that she would meet with celebrities all the time. Quinn has even thought so herself going through university.

Soon enough, she found out that no, she was only receiving normal people. Maybe if she had purchased a building in a more secluded place, she would have had celebrities. But no, the stars were too concerned about their image, and none of them wanted to be seen going in and out of a therapist's office, no matter how successful the therapist or how much they needed help.

Despite all this, Quinn was making plenty of money. She lived in a high-end apartment building, and she even had enough money that she had bribed the owners of the apartment to let her keep her cat, Betty, in her apartment.

Quinn was nervous about this afternoon. She knew she was the best, and she knew only the worst came to her, but still. If this mystery person came in and was not pleased, their status could potentially ruin hers.

Currently, Quinn was walking the streets of NYC, on her way to work. She had asked her secretary to come in early so she could do some background checking on this mystery person. She hoped that she had found something, because they weren't given much. Just a phone number and an agent's name.

"Good morning," Quinn called to the mostly empty front room of her building.

"Miss Fabray." Santana Lopez greets her, as per usual. "How was your morning?"

"Lovely, Santana. It's freezing outside, you know? It's October and it's freezing. I thought that only happened in Canada."

"Occasionally, we get snow in October. It can be a hell of a drive."

Santana Lopez, Quinn's secretary of 3 years, was a beautiful women. Black hair that flowed steadily past her shoulders, tan skin that looked smooth to the touch and chocolatey eyes to match. Quinn appreciated not having to walk in every morning to an ugly man, she much more preferred women.

"So," Quinn says, sitting on a stool that was placed in front of Santana's desk especially for her. "Did you find anything out about our mystery client?"

"Sadly, no. I didn't find out too much, but I did find out who called us. It was an agency – one for only those with the most money."

"Huh." Quinn taps her fingernail against her chin, a classic habit when she's thinking. "So, we can assume we're dealing with someone important, yes?"

"I think it would be safe to say so, yes." Santana nods.

"Is that all, then?"

"Sadly, yes."

"You're so formal, Santana. Loosen up." Quinn suggests, patting Santana's hand where it rests on her computer mouse.

"Sorry, Quinn. I know it bugs the clients when I'm tense."

"They probably don't even notice. I just say that so you don't stand around like you think that if you move the world will collapse."

Santana sighs. "Lately, I've been thinking it will."

"Brittany?" Quinn questions.

Quinn has known Santana long enough to meet her girlfriend, Brittany. Brittany is slightly aloof, and Quinn has noticed that it makes it hard for Santana to be sure of what the blonde is feeling. Quinn knows Santana is smart enough to tell when she's happy or sad, but she's noticed that it's more the relationship aspects that confuse Santana.

"Yes." Santana sighs. "I have no idea what's going on. She's teaching dance classes down at the east end of the city with some guy, and she always comes home giggling and happy. She tells stories about how fun he is with the kids."

"You know she loves teaching dance, it's probably just that that's making her so happy."

"Yeah, but how do I know for sure?"

"Listen, Santana. I've known you and Brittany for long enough that I can tell you're head over heels in love with each other. I also know that Brittany would never, ever cheat on you. You need to trust her to be faithful. If it really starts bugging you, tag along to one of her lessons. You know she loves it when you do."

Santana grins, clearly remembering the last time she visited Brittany's class. "Yeah."

"If that doesn't help, just ask. I can't guarantee she won't get a little upset that you don't trust her, but if she does you can just remind her that you're a paranoid, clingy girlfriend."

"Ha-ha." Santana laughs dryly.

"You know I'm right."

"I do," Santana grins. "Thanks. I think I'll go to her class tomorrow night... that is, if you let me off early."

"Oh, you know I can't deny _you_." Quinn smiles. "Just get Tina to sub for you and you're good."

"Yes! I can do that. Thanks, boss."

"No problem." Quinn gives her a thumbs up before hopping off her stool.

She heads into the smaller room that's designed for the kids she sees. The room constantly needs cleaning, because she lets the kid play with the toys she had set up for about ten minutes before she sees them. It loosens them up and gets out any bent up energy they might have, making it easier for them to sit while they talk to her.

The room is painted a pale yellow and has pictures of various kids shows plastered around the room. There's a big leather couch across from her desk. The couch was specifically bought to be larger than the desk. It was a risky choice – although Santana didn't quite understand her decision – because the large couch could either make the child feel big and important, making them talk more freely, or it could make them feel small and shy, which would make them more quiet. Luckily, it usually was not the latter.

Quinn wobbled on the carpeted floor in her heels, heading over to where the toys were. She began grabbing a few she knew the boy she was seeing first today liked. His name was Thomas and he liked playing with the trains she had and the airplanes. He liked to pretend he was on one of them, trying to leave New York.

Not surprisingly, this told her a lot about Thomas.

Quinn set the toys around the room, trying to space them about so Thomas would have to move about to get to them. He often had sugary breakfasts and he had his appointments in the morning, so she kept him busy so he wouldn't be bouncing off the walls when she was ready to see him.

After she was done in the kids room, she set off to the room across from it, her room for seeing kids aged 11 – 17. When Santana had asked her why she cut the age off for the kids room so young, she had had to explain to her that eleven was the age when a child started wanting to grow up, really grow up, and being treated like an older kid by putting them in the teens room would make them feel more important, like you thought they were special. Quinn always knew that making a client feel significant was a very crucial part of her job.

She did her routine check of the room, making sure there wasn't any gum – yes, they stuck _gum _to her walls – on the blue walls. Also, she made sure there wasn't any gum stuck to the light hardwood floor, and she made sure none of her pictures of various bands, television shows, singers and art were torn. She had tried to get as many as possible, trying to find bands of the most well-known variety to the more underground type. A person's music taste could get them talking, especially when you listened. Teenagers love being listened to, because a lot of people don't ever think what they're saying is important.

Finally, Quinn checks her adults room. This room is rather simple, with burgundy walls, dark hardwood floors and bright light fixtures. Her desk sits on the right side of this room, and the couch on the left side is the same make as the one in the child's room.

This and the teens room are the only rooms with the chairs in it for lying down, because a lot of the times both adults and teens say they're feeling tired. That is when Quinn invites them to lie down. They usually say, "oh no, I meant emotionally tired." Quinn still tells them to lie down. It's a relaxation exercise that she likes to use a lot. She has the patient think of all their problems, then close their eyes, and just let _go. _

She makes them let go all of their problems, clear their mind of everything that hurts, everything stressful, everything and anything negative, and then talk about their problems one by one instead of having them all jumbled together and confusing. If they begin to stress again, she has them start from the beginning. Sometimes, she does this exercise when she's home alone. Oh, she only wished she had someone who would listen to her problems.

Quinn exited the room kicked her heels at the wall. "I hate wearing these things, ugh."

Santana just grinned at her.

By 3:00 that afternoon, Quinn was asleep in her reclining leather chair behind her wooden desk in her front office. Santana honestly didn't want to wake her, what with Thomas this morning, throwing a fit and tearing down all the posters in Quinn's kids room, causing her to have to go out and buy new ones. Not to mention, Samantha, a fourteen year old girl, having thrown up in Quinn's teens room after coming to her appointment hungover.

Quinn had had to personally walk two blocks over to the best cleaning service she could find to get that out of her chair, because their phone lines were down. After they had cleared out, she had met with an older woman named Gloria, who had just whined about how she couldn't find a proper backpack for her son for school. Quinn had asked if he had been saying they were inadequate, but she denied, saying he loved anything, she just couldn't find one good enough for him.

Her last client of the day before the mystery person had been an older man named Calvin who couldn't get the fact that Quinn liked women through his head. He continuously flirted with her, telling Quinn he had certain dreams about a certain blonde wearing thick black glasses.

Conclusively, right after he had left she had stumbled out of the adult room with her heels off and passed out on the floor. Santana had spared her the dignity she would've lost waking up there, and she had placed her in her chair.

Now, it was 3:00 and Quinn was a mess, her cropped hair mussed around in all different angles, her black skirt hiked up mid-thigh and her jacket falling off. Not to mention the drool slowly making its way across her cheek.

Santana braced herself for the worst, and she crossed the room to where her boss slept, shaking her slightly to wake her up.

Quinn woke with a start, flinging her hand around, threatening a slap Santana dodged by inches.

"Holy shit," Quinn swore. "What time is it?"

"3:00." Santana answered.

"Holy shit," Quinn repeated. "How do I look?"

She quickly sat up, running her fingers through her hair a few short times and adjusting her jacket. She still looked like the vomit the fourteen year old had left on her chair.

"Truthfully?" Santana said, "Not so good.

"Damn. I have to fix up."

Quinn dashes through her main office – the adult one – picks up her heels from the floor behind her desk, and enters the washroom at the far end of the room.

For a second, she just gapes at how awful she looks. Then she remembers how close she is to an appointment with a very, very important client and she picks up a brush to run through her hair. She fixes her clothing and straps her heels back on before sliding through the doors again to find Santana typing away at her computer.

"Looking much better, Miss Fabray."

"Thank you, _darling_." Quinn says. "Could you get me a coffee? I am deprived of energy."

"Of course."

Quinn stays still for a second longer while Santana picks up her desk phone, hitting speed dial three for Quinn and hers favourite coffee place. They've gone to lunch there so many times they know everyone that works there, and the owners.

Quinn sits in her leather chair again, sets her head down on the desk and lets the days events wash over her. She takes a deep breath before exhaling, theoretically pushing all her problems out with that one breath.

She starts mouthing all her problems to herself, one by one, until Santana sets large black coffee down in front of her face.

Santana has this look on her face again – one that Quinn finds really annoying – it's a smug look that tells you Santana knows exactly what you're doing and thinking. Every time Quinn gets that look, she wants to slap the shit out of her secretary. Sometimes, she can restrain herself. Sometimes.

"What?"

"What if," Santana starts, sitting on the edge of Quinn's desk with her own coffee in hand. "This mystery client is like, a really hot girl and you fall in love with her and you're finally happy?"

"I'm happy."

"You're bitter."

Quinn sighs and shakes her laptop awake to check the time before realizing she's wearing a watch.

"Oh my, 3:15. Go hide in your little office. I'll wait here for mystery girl." Santana crosses her legs and sips her coffee, staring at Quinn expectantly.

Quinn stands, shaking herself awake. "When did this mystery person become female?"

"When I decided that you and her are going to fall in love and get married."

"You're turning into Brittany."

"At least I'd finally love myself." Santana says.

Quinn frowns.

Santana sits at her desk, as per usual, but today there's a bit of excitement racing through her veins. She's never met a celebrity before, let alone one that needs a therapist. She wonders if they handpicked Quinn themselves or if they had an agent do it.

Santana couldn't wait to tell Brittany tonight, but she wasn't sure if she'd be able to hold in her excitement until then. She decided that as soon as the celebrity shut the door of Quinn's office, she would call Brittany.

Towards the clock, she looked and found that it was 3:30 on the dot. She bit her lip, wondering if the mystery girl would be one of those divas who would be fashionably late for everything. If that was the case, she took back what she had said to Quinn before. A diva would overpower Quinn too much.

At that exact moment, the door burst open, and Santana could hear hundreds – possibly thousands, of cameras clicking and people talking. A small, brunette-headed girl backed into the doorway and slammed it shut after she'd made it all the way inside.

Santana immediately recognized her from all the musicals Brittany had dragged her too, claiming that it was going to broaden their horizons.

A wild-eyed, crazy haired Rachel Berry locked eyes with Santana and grinned, making her way to the front desk to check in.

Quinn was tired, and she imagined she looked the same way she felt. Despite spending her high school years perfecting her 'ice queen' look, throughout the rest of her life, she had tried to work it away. Now, her eyes always betrayed what she was feeling.

This afternoon, she was trying to focus all her energy into this meeting. A first meet with a patient is always important, and she could also make a lot of publicity this way, leading to a lot of money. If she failed this, she was stuck in the same rut she had been before. She was not moving forward, nor backward.

Quinn heard the front door open, and she tensed. She took another sip of her coffee to calm herself down, but it was cold now and it only made her nerves worse. She wished she had some peppermint tea. That never failed to calm her.

Quinn heard Santana walking the client to the door of her office, and she suddenly, intensely wished she had a door with a window. If only she had a door with a window, she thought, she would have been able to prepare herself for what was coming.

Or perhaps not.

The door opened and Santana grinned and said the usual, 'your client is here, Miss Fabray.' Right before she sidestepped to the left, she mouthed the word 'hot' to Quinn. Quinn's stomach lurched. She was nervous enough. Now the girl had to be hot, too? Great. Really.

Santana winked and moved away, revealing the most gorgeous girl Quinn had _ever _seen. She had brown hair that flowed just past her shoulders and bangs that needed a cut, rather badly. She had brown eyes with gold flecks and a smile a mile long. She was short but the skirt she sported made her tan legs appear longer than any other legs Quinn had seen.

This was not good.

Quinn had sworn off dating, or even getting remotely close to a person right after she graduated college. All the shit guys and girls alike had given her had taught her a few things – one of them being that not everybody's intentions are as pure as they seem.

Quinn realized she'd been staring at the tiny brunette for an extended period of time. She shook herself and got on her feet.

"Hi, I'm Quinn Fabgay – Fabray. I'm Quinn Fabray." Quinn stuttered.

_Oh, my god. Shoot me in the face, right now. _

"Hi, I'm Rachel Berry. But you knew that?" Rachel giggled.

"No, I didn't actually. Please have a seat."

Quinn didn't specify where, and Rachel slid past her and sat down in Quinn's chair. Normally, if someone else had done this, she would've told them to move. But Quinn's mouth didn't want to work. Therefore, she sat down on the edge of the chair that Rachel should have sat down on.

"So, the first meeting is pretty introductory, so-"

"Who's this?" Rachel interrupts. "You're girlfriend?"

Rachel waves a picture frame around, the one from her desk that had a picture of her and Brittany in it.

"No, actually, that's her girlfriend." Quinn jerks her thumb over her shoulder. "And how do you know I'm gay?"

"Well," Rachel starts. "I, of course, did some background research info on you before requesting my agent call your secretary. It stated your sexual orientation, and you do realize you just stuttered and said your last name was Fabgay? Clever, really."

Quinn felt a blush rise on her neck, and she gripped the side of the chair, hard, where Rachel couldn't see her hand. She couldn't let some Hollywood diva ruin her get close to her. She'd just hurt her or give up on her, like the rest of them did.

"I stuttered, so does everyone in this world. Am I not supposed to be the person asking the questions?"

"Are you the one behind the desk?" Rachel raised an eyebrow.

"I should be."

"Too bad you're not. I'll ask the questions. You can ask some later."

Quinn leaned back into the chair, playing client for once. She and Santana had used to do this once in a while when Quinn needed a break, until Santana's questions got too personal. Then Quinn had made her stop. She couldn't open up to anyone.

"Alright." Quinn says.

"Okay, where did you grow up?" Rachel asks.

"Lima, Ohio."

"Cute. Me too." Rachel says.

"Weird." Quinn nods.

"Okay, describe yourself. Very personally. I want to know all your flaws before I tell you mine."

"That's not how it works." Quinn says, sitting up suddenly.

"I'm paying you." Rachel's face falls flat. "I'm not telling you anything until I know you're willing to tell me information about you."

"Are you a serial killer?" Quinn asks.

"Yes. Now, describe yourself. Flaws and all."

Quinn groans. "Alright, I went to the University of New York -"

"Shut up."

"What?"

"I didn't ask for your life story. I asked for you to describe yourself."

"I – I – this isn't how this works!" Quinn shouts.

"I will pay you _double._" Rachel insists.

"My god, woman! What do you want from me?"

"Sh, you'll find that out soon enough." Rachel whispers.

"Are you high?"

"No. I can pee in your toilet and you can smell it, I guarantee you, nothing in there."

"That's nasty. And why should I tell you all my flaws and attributes? I've just met you!"

Rachel doesn't say anything.

"Oh, my fucking god. Oh, my god, what the hell? You are not my therapist! Get out!"

"You can't kick me out."

"Yes, I can!"

Quinn stands up, and points to the door. She makes several grand gestures to it. Rachel stays where she is.

"You can't kick me out, I paid your secretary with my gold card."

"I don't _care_! I will find a way to pay you back. Now leave!"

"No."

"Leave!"

"No."

"Get out!"

"Fine!" Rachel bursts. "Fine, but I'll be back! You bet your ass, I will be back in this office!"

Rachel storms out, slamming the door. Quinn runs to the door, and catches Rachel just as she's opening the outside door.

"Remember to make an appointment!"

Quinn, sure she must look horrible, goes into the bathroom at the end of the room Rachel had just been in. She turns on the sink before looking in the mirror.

Yet, when she does look up to the mirror, she's grinning ear to ear.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Okay, yes, I usually write Brittana, but I felt like Faberry today. Also, there is mild Brittana in this! So, you can't hate me. Also, I haven't updated in forever. Sorry about that, I was working on a project. :) If you like this chapter, please tell me! It's something new I wanted to try, so I'm a little iffy on it. **


	2. Crimson and Clover

Monday mornings were never Quinn's strong suit, especially not after last week's Thursday. She had dragged herself through Friday, only the thought of helping other people keeping her going. Tina had been a nice replacement for Santana, but Quinn couldn't say she liked it when Santana took days off. In fact, it usually made her want to jump off of a cliff. Tina almost didn't wake her up in time for her 4:00 appointment, and she didn't put her back on her chair when she passed out on the floor. These were all major flaws. She would have to get Santana to explain these things to Tina for next time.

Quinn had slept all weekend and had found it difficult to put herself together when she woke up this morning. It was clear in the way she had dressed. She was wearing a short white skirt and a black blouse with a pink jacket. A very bright, pink jacket. She seriously, seriously needed someone to pick out her clothes for her on Mondays. She hoped no one would mind that she was walking around the office with no shoes on. She had accidentally put on sandals this morning with socks on, and she thought that she might lose clients for looking insane when she was supposed to be fixing the insane.

Over the weekend, she had seriously considered drowning herself and on her way to work this morning, she had considered jumping into busy traffic. She was so screwed, it wasn't even comical. Although, she was sure if she explained her dilemma to Santana, she would find it more than entertaining.

It had been three days, and she still couldn't get the image of Rachel Berry's stunning smile and mile long legs out of her head. Considering, she wanted those legs underneath her, and that smile...

Quinn had been having completely inappropriate thoughts all weekend. She would stare at the TV on mute, not really seeing it, imagining Rachel's full lips on her own. In Quinn's humble opinion, that was an utterly _wrong _thought to be having about someone she'd just met, _especially _a client. Therefore, every time she caught herself daydreaming about kissing Rachel, she'd snap an elastic on her wrist. Currently, she had six elastics around her right wrist and seven around her left. Least to say, she'd been thinking about kissing Rachel quite a lot. It was like Olivia Wilde all over again.

Unfortunately for Quinn, her elastic band method was failing her. She still thought of Rachel, the girl was constantly in the back of her mind, just sitting there, filing her nails, waiting for her turn to be the centre of Quinn's attention. Quinn wished she'd go away, and she wished that the incessant silence Rachel had left behind in her head would go away. She was constantly asking herself if Rachel meant that sometimes even Quinn needed a therapist, or if she was just being an idiot. Quinn rounded it up as she walked, deciding that she over thought things too much and that Rachel was probably just being an idiot.

Quinn hadn't meant to snap at Rachel so abruptly at the end of their session, it was just that she _needed _control like she needed air. She was aware that Rachel might just have trust problems and that she needed to be sure that Quinn was willing to also tell _her _the secrets she hides, but she'd been on her own for so long, peacefully at that, that she wasn't really _used _to people trying to get to know her. Especially not as extremely as Rachel had.

Not to mention, she thought she was better off alone. People were poison, her mother had once told her.

Quinn kept thinking about everything until she reached the front door of her office. She stopped there and let out a huge breath. Oh, was she ever tired. Quinn knew what she wanted and she knew what she needed. She needed somebody to trust, to confide in and to love her. She _wanted _to keep suffering endlessly until it became too much and she just died.

She was so, so tired and it was killing her.

Quinn opened the door and did not say anything to Santana. She dropped her bag on her desk and stopped to consider her chair. She guessed she stood there for about five minutes before just falling onto the floor. She spread out and felt very glad at that moment that the custodians she had hired came in before she or Santana got there. That was rather considerate of them, she thought. She would have to leave a thank you note for them one day.

"It's a tad early for you to be on the floor already."

Suddenly, Santana is standing over her, and seeing the familiar girls face reminds her of Thursday where the same face had mouthed the word 'hot' to her and where Quinn had panicked and thought that the meeting was going to go horrible. Sometimes, Quinn figured she was psychic.

"I'm so screwed, San."

"My date with Brittany was great, actually. We had sex – lots of it – afterwards."

"Fuck you."

"You know?" Santana said, lying down next to Quinn on the floor. "Maybe, the reason I refuse to tell you certain things is because every time I try and speak to you, you reject me and start babbling on about how everything _sucks, _but you never tell me why."

"Congratulations on the sex, how was it?" Quinn narrows her eyes.

"Great, but what I was aiming for saying thanks for the advise. As it turns out, the guy Brittany's teaching dance with? Sam or something? He's as gay as I am. You saved me from a world of pain, so thanks. Yeah."

"You're welcome. It's my job."

"I didn't pay you," Santana says.

"You work for me."

"Do I?"

Quinn glared at her.

"Alright, alright. Fine, what's wrong with you?"

"That girl that came in Thursday? Rachel Berry?"

Santana sat up. It was rare that Quinn _actually _told her about any of her problems, and if today was going to be different, she wanted to show Quinn that she was her friend, and that she cared. Perhaps, if she translated this well enough, Quinn would open up more.

"Yes, I remember her."

"She..." Quinn makes a face, considering her words. "She treated me like a patient, and she was the doctor."

"Okay, so she's not coming back, I guess?"

"No – she said she would be."

Santana doesn't say anything for a moment, she just sits, studying her friends face. "You want her to come back, don't you?"

"Yes."

* * *

><p>Rachel Berry was photographed a lot. She was in the paper a lot, and she often felt awkward going into stores because there was always pictures of her face on the covers of magazines. She was used to people stopping her on the street, in stores, everywhere. Rachel loved living in New York City, but she knew one thing was for sure. The population was incredibly <em>large<em>.

Rachel hadn't lied to the therapist the other day. She had grown up in Lima, Ohio. There weren't many high schools there, and she had probably been expected to go to the same one Quinn had gone to, but she had transferred to an art school the summer before her freshman year. In middle school, she had always been bullied for liking musicals, Broadway and whatnot. She had figured if she went to an arts school, she might fit in better.

She had been horribly wrong. It was just the same as middle school, only with ten times more people ready to torment her on a daily basis. She had no real friends, and any friend she _did _make left her right when she needed them most. Honestly, by her junior year, she completely gave up on trying to keep any of her friends. There was no point.

By the time she entered college, she was so detached from people she couldn't even tell her roommate her middle name. She could never get close to anyone. Every time her mouth opened to say something personal, her mind would scream and yell at her to run, to just get the hell away from _everybody_. Eventually, she learned that perhaps her mind knew better than her heart and she left everyone well enough alone. If no one got close to her, no one could hurt her. Easy.

Her agent had suggested she get a therapist. He – Noah Puckerman – had noticed that she stayed away from people, and every time she got too close to someone she would never contact them again. He would take call after call from people he thought were her friends, and she would say to ask them to stop calling every time. Beyond that, almost every night Rachel took three pills – two too many – to get to sleep. It was a pain for her, waking up in the morning after that, but at least she fell asleep and _didn't _dream.

If there was one thing Rachel Berry was not, it was stupid. She very well knew she needed a therapist. She also knew she was never going to tell the therapist anything. She didn't care what they said about therapists, how they can't tell anybody what you say, how they won't judge you. She knew that her therapist was a human being, and she knew human beings were specially designed to look, judge, and hurt. In that order.

Rachel had had a plan. She was going to go to one appointment, try and reverse the roles, tell her agent that the therapist had more problems than she did – with proof, hopefully – and never go back again.

At least she could pride herself in the fact that she had gotten through the first two steps before realizing she really wanted to make out with the girl lying in the chair across from her.

Rachel really wanted a girlfriend. She felt like a complete hypocrite whenever she thought about it, though. She wanted someone to kiss, to cuddle, to hug and love her, but she would never get really, emotionally close to them because she couldn't. It would not be fair to try and make the other person fall in love with her when she had nothing to offer them. She would never do that to someone.

Also, Rachel had never met anyone good enough. She'd seen plenty of beautiful girls, that was a given when you had a lot of back-up dancers working around you, but she'd never met anyone who could challenge her wordy, bossy self. She talked a lot, probably too much, and most of the time people would get annoyed or she'd act bossy and they would get mad and avoid her. Never had she ever met someone who could challenge her.

Until last Thursday, when her therapist had kicked her out. When she had refused to leave the office a few times, she expected Quinn to let up. But she kept trying. She didn't give up, and that was a sign to Rachel. She didn't care if the thing Quinn didn't give up on was getting rid of her. Rachel had never met someone like Quinn, and she was surprised when she woke up on Friday morning to make a decision. That decision was, ultimately, she wanted Quinn Fabray.

In most cases, Rachel would plan. Being as organized as she was, she did not need an agent. Planning was her thing, organizing was a hobby. She loved order, and it always gave her a sense of pride when she finished organizing some big thing, like the 300 Broadway CD's she had in her music library at her home. She had organized those by alphabetical order, it had taken her three days.

Yes, in most cases, she would plan. Although this time, she would not. The only thing she needed to do was be slightly less _extreme. _As a child, her father had always told her she was very outspoken. She knew he was only being polite. Rachel liked being loud and sudden, because it kept people away from her. They did not like abruptness. In all truth, she did not either, but she kept up the facade to keep people away from her, but she would quit it to try for Quinn. She did not want Quinn Fabray falling for some facade she put up to get her to like her. If Quinn hated her, Quinn hated her. If Quinn liked her, she liked her. That was that. The only thing she could hope for was that Quinn would fall for her before Rachel got too wrapped up in her. If, she thought, if I fall for Quinn and she doesn't like me, I don't think I'll be able to handle rejection again.

Rachel was short and did not like heels, but she had had most of the upper hand last Thursday, and she liked having the upper hand. It gave her a sense of control she could not get over her own life. So, she wore heels today because maybe if she could stand taller – or at least eye to eye – with Quinn, she could manage to get information without getting kicked out again.

Again, she found herself in front of Quinn Fabray's building, reaching out for the door handle. She had not made an appointment like Quinn had told her to do. It was around eleven at night, and she was wishing on her lucky stars that Quinn was still here. The secretary had told her yesterday that she herself usually went home around midnight, depending on the night. Rachel couldn't imagine why.

Twisting the door handle, she found it unlocked and pushed the door inside. She walked in, her heels making an unnerving click-clack on the floor. Nearly tripping over the front mat, she continued further into the building, shutting the door behind her.

She hears someone typing in the room where she and Quinn had met the other day, so she heads towards it. She notices the door is closed, but confident that this must be the room Quinn is in, she opens the door.

Quinn's head jerks up, a hard look on her face. "Santana, I said – oh."

Rachel watches Quinn get up and take off black-rimmed glasses. She watches her smooth out her white skirt and adjust her black blouse. Rachel notices the Quinn's been running her fingers through her short hair, it's mussed about and Rachel can't help but imagine her fingers in that hair.

Quinn stalks towards her, and Rachel backs up against the wall. She fights a giggle, because Quinn looks positively furious. She finds it's not so hard to stop laughing when Quinn walks right into her, placing her hands on the wall above Rachel's head.

"I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to treat your clients this way." Rachel says.

"We're closed, darling." Rachel smells alcohol on Quinn's breath, and she immediately regrets coming this late.

"You're door was unlocked, I apologize."

"Don't." Quinn says.

Quinn moves backward, tripping and falling into the chair Rachel had last seen her sit in. Rachel's regret only grows in size when she realizes how drunk Quinn actually is.

"I didn't see Santana on my way in." Rachel says.

"She went home with Brittany."

Rachel had no idea who Brittany was, but she could care less. She was more concerned with the intoxicated blonde sitting next to her.

"Drinking alone on a Monday night?"

"Why did you come here?" Quinn whines suddenly. "Did you come to make me feel worse than I already do?"

"No. I wanted to talk to you." Rachel says.

"I'm sorry. If I had known you were coming I would've waited 'till later to drink."

"Timing is everything, isn't it?" Rachel speaks.

Quinn doesn't say anything, just curls in on herself and stares at the wall.

"How are you getting home?" Rachel asks after a moment of silence.

"I'm not?" Quinn says it like a question.

"Where do you live?"

"I don't remember."

"Thanks, helpful."

Rachel gets to her feet and walks over to the computer sitting on Quinn's desk. She notices the mostly empty bottle of beer there and a small glass that smelled like vodka. She rolled her eyes – she had no taste for alcohol – and shook the computer to life. It was password protected.

"What's your computer password?"

"Betty." Quinn groaned.

"Cat?"

"Yes."

Rachel types in the password and waits for the main screen to pop up. The wallpaper is a boring picture of a river, probably the same one the computer came with. She double-clicks a shortcut named 'personal.' Since she find nothing relating to where Quinn lives, she clicks on another file named 'Santana.' Rachel thinks that's the name of the secretary. She ignores all the psychological bull that's listed, skipping to the end of the file, finding a phone number. She picks up the phone and dials.

"Quinn, this better be a goddamn emergency. Brittany was just -" Santana answers.

"Do you know where Quinn lives?" Rachel interrupts.

"Huh? Who is this?"

"It's Rachel Berry. Where does Quinn live?"

"Why do you want to know?" Santana's voice is icy coming through the other line.

"She's drunk as hell and doesn't remember where she lives. I need to get her home." Rachel rubs a hand over her forehead. She did not want her Monday night to end this way.

Rachel hears mumbling over the other line and another woman saying something like 'no, don't leave.' She hears Santana sigh and the phone rustling as it's moved.

"Quinn lives in The Sierra on West 15th Street. Apartment 216. Goodnight."

The phone call ends before Rachel can reply. She doesn't really care, anyways. She's busier thanking the gods for letting Quinn live in the nearest apartment complex.

She turns the computer on to hibernate again and walks over to get Quinn. She pauses for a moment to watch the blonde's chest rise and fall as she sleeps. She feels like a demon for waking her up, but she doesn't know how to lock this building and she doesn't want some guy coming in the middle of the night to murder Quinn.

She grabs Quinn's arm and shakes her. She opens her eyes to stare at Rachel.

"Strawberry Shortcake?"

* * *

><p>Quinn woke up the next morning on the couch in her apartment. This was normal, except she specifically remembered falling asleep on the streets of NYC. She should be dead, right? She wished she was dead. But she wasn't. She was awake, with a killer hangover from whatever she drank last night.<p>

Quinn often prided herself on being able to remember important things when she was hungover. She remembered today was Tuesday, and she remembered she had to go to work. She supposed it must be daylight savings time or something, because the light coming in her window looked like it was mid-afternoon.

She yawned, nearly losing the contents of her stomach on the white carpet as she did, and stood up slowly. The first thing she noticed was the clean, white piece of paper on her black coffee table. She picked it up curiously. Had someone walked her home last night?

The note was written in handwriting she didn't recognize, long, scrolling letters. She read it quickly.

_I'm going to get us breakfast. Don't leave, Santana called your clients. Happy day off. I'll be back. - Rachel Berry_

She read it again, then again, then finally she just read the last two words over and over. Then, one thought came into her head.

_What new hell have I gotten myself into now? _

Quinn dropped the note and realized she really had to pee. She headed to her bathroom and found she'd rather throw up. She continued on around her apartment, her mind sifting through her thoughts one at a time, presenting them to her to see if she cared or not. Mostly, she did not.

She was staring out the window in her kitchen when the door to the living room opened. She idly wondered why she didn't lock the door. She didn't want Rachel Berry in her apartment. She wanted her to leave, because nobody had ever walked her home when she was drunk before. Nobody had ever got her breakfast. Nobody ever cared.

"Quinn." Rachel says from the doorway to the kitchen. "I brought breakfast."

Quinn was glad to hear in Rachel's voice the nervousness she felt. She turned on her heel and walked after Rachel into the living room. She froze in place when she saw Rachel wearing an oversized Mumford & Sons t-shirt – her shirt – and a pair of _her _jeans.

"You called me Strawberry Shortcake then threw up on me."

"Sometimes that happens. Did you sleep here?"

"Yeah. You have a very lush carpet. It feels European."

"You slept on the floor?"

The apartment was specifically a one-bedroom. Quinn didn't want company staying over. That really wasn't a problem, anyways, because the only people who ever came over were Santana and Brittany anyways.

"The floor." Rachel nods. "You kept jerking around in your sleep. I thought you were having a seizure, so I stayed to watch you so you didn't pee yourself or something and ruin your nice, white, European carpet."

Quinn suddenly feels sick to her stomach. Not because she's been drinking. This girl – one she _barely _knows – walked her home when she was drunk, put up with her even after she apparently vomited on her, spent the night to look after her, called Santana for her, and bought her breakfast with her own money, and Quinn had nothing to offer in return. She felt inadequate, and she hated that feeling. Quinn only knew how to deal with her feelings in one way, and that was to run away from them.

Only, she couldn't run now. She was in her own apartment with a girl – and oh, my god, she just realized she wasn't even wearing pants – who had just bought her breakfast. What was she supposed to do? Kick her out? She couldn't do that. Quinn had been training herself to be nicer, she couldn't kick Rachel out again after what she'd just done for her. Quinn supposed she would eat breakfast and think up an excuse to get the brunette out of her apartment.

"It's not European."

"That's nice. Quinn?"

Quinn's head snaps up, breaking her out of her thoughts. "Yeah?"

"Did you want me to go home?" Rachel asks.

Quinn's jaw practically dislocates as it drops, was she that obvious? "No!"

Rachel looks up from her hands, a look that's sure to become familiar crossing her features. "Are you sure? Because it's pretty early, and the later I leave the more it's going to seem like we just had sex."

Quinn's mind finally becomes alert, and she grins at Rachel. "Wouldn't you like that?"

"What? Having people _think _we had sex, or actually having sex with you?"

"Well, I think it's safe to assume that you'd definitely _love _having sex with me. So, no need to ask."

"Cocky, aren't we?" Rachel raises an eyebrow.

"No, do you see me wearing boxers?"

Rachel laughs, and Quinn moves around the table to sit on the couch next to her. She reaches for the paper bag on the table, apparently her breakfast, but Rachel grabs it before she can.

"What?" Quinn asks, confused.

Rachel just stares at her. "I've just met you. You can't eat my food."

"This again? You slept on my floor. I threw up on you. Isn't that good enough for now?"

"No. I'll give you a piece of food for every fact about yourself you give me."

"Fine."

"Oh, and I get to ask the questions!" Rachel exclaims.

"What? No, no."

"Fine. No food for you, then. And I'd like to inform you that I checked your kitchen for food before going out and you have _literally_ nothing."

Quinn's stomach grumbled and she really didn't feel like going out. She felt disgusting and the only thing keeping her from a shower was the gorgeous girl sitting on her couch. Quinn scowled at Rachel and Rachel took it as an agreement.

"Alright," Rachel began, unrolling the top of the paper bag. "When did you find out you were gay?"

"My first year of high school, when I joined cheer leading."

Rachel laughs for a good minute at that before pulling a french fry out of the paper bag and handing it to Quinn.

"This is all?"

"I'll handle the questions here, thank you."

Quinn rolled her eyes, not bothering to hide it. She ate the fry and ran her fingers through her hair, pulling them out slightly greasy. Nasty.

"Alright, who was your first girlfriend and what was she like?"

Quinn paused with her mouth open for a moment. "I..." She stares at the wall as she continues. "I was 15, and her name was Dianna. She was so nice, really, but she was just...experimenting."

Rachel frowned, and didn't hesitate this time before handing Quinn two french fries. "Did you really like her?"

"At the time, yes."

Rachel nods, and hands Quinn three more french fries.

"Okay," Rachel sticks a french fry in her mouth herself. "Are you a virgin?"

"Yes." Quinn nods, trying to ignore the fact that she feels a blush creeping up her neck.

"Uh-huh, as I expected." Rachel throws a fry at her.

"As you expected? What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know, what _does _it mean, Quinn?"

"I don't know."

"How's that make you _feel_?" Rachel says seriously.

"No." Quinn shakes her head. "Don't make me kick you out again."

"Oh, please. I'm acting accordingly so you don't kick me out. I was slightly _intense _yesterday. For that, I am sorry."

"Yeah, only slightly, right?"

"What did I tell you about who's handling the questions?"

"Have I ever told you that every time you're around, I feel like I'm hanging out with a drug addict?"

* * *

><p>Rachel left at eleven that night.<p>

When Quinn had looked at the clock after letting Rachel go, she had nearly had a panic attack. She had not spent that much time with someone since her college years, but that was a roommate thing, and Quinn didn't count it as optional.

Quinn walked through her now empty apartment, reaching for the phone. She had to call Santana. She had a serious problem here, and although she was supposed to be the therapist, she needed help.

"Hello?" A bright voice comes through the other line.

"Hey, Brittany. Is Santana home?"

"Yeah, but she's asleep. I could help you with whatever problem you have, though." Brittany says.

"How did you know I had a problem?"

"It's eleven o'clock at night, Quinn. You never call this late unless it's some sort of emergency."

"Right."

"So what's the problem?" Brittany asks.

Quinn opens her mouth, ready to spill all about her problem, before she realizes she doesn't have one.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: ****Alright, so the second chapter is up! I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed, added this story to their favourites or put it on story alert! I hope this chapter lived up to your expectations, and your feedback is greatly appreciated. This chapter might not be as great as the last one, but I did read it over four times, so I hope it will be good enough to keep you sated until the third chapter is up. Reviews keep me writing, and thanks again. **


	3. Tease

December came with promises of new things, and new flooring – for Quinn Fabray's apartment building, that is.

The owner of the apartment had told her it would take most of December and the beginning of January. He had also told her that she could not come back into the apartment that night, but that it would probably be okay for tomorrow. Quinn had been slightly upset. She had decided to let Santana, and herself take off all of the month of December. Therefore, Santana had convinced Brittany to take the month off. They were both long gone to Greece, and Quinn had nowhere to stay for the night.

She knew she ought to ask Rachel, but the thing is, every time she saw the girl, she wanted to kiss her. Yet, that wasn't the problem. She wanted to kiss Olivia Wilde, too, and she'd never met her. The problem was that she didn't want to just _kiss _her. She didn't even want to have sex with her, she wanted to hug her, she wanted to wake up next to her and she wanted to cuddle her when she was cold.

She so desperately wanted all those stupid things that only lonely people want. Although, Santana told her on a regular basis that she was a lonely person.

These were the reasons why she found herself settling down for the night on the couch in her office. Lord, she thought. Was have I come to?

Rachel Berry was not happy. No, she was angry, and for once, she had let herself feel angry. She felt it with such a force that she had broken her living room window with a toaster. No big deal, really. She could withdraw money from her bank account to pay for it since she wasn't making any money taking a year off. Virtually, Rachel could see no problem with what she had done. But maybe that was the pleasant rush she was still getting from throwing a toaster out the window of her house.

There was one major problem though. She had nowhere to sleep. She was paranoid, and refused to sleep in her house when there was a hole big enough for a person to come in through. She had called Quinn's apartment building earlier, because Quinn hadn't answered her phone and didn't have one of her own in her apartment. They had said they were re-flooring Quinn's floor and that they didn't know where she was staying. Rachel assumed Quinn would be staying with Santana, and because Rachel didn't have a place to stay, she once again found herself in front of Quinn's office.

She was coming here regularly now, making appointments once a week. Still, she wasn't telling Quinn very much, but Quinn _was _a professional, so maybe she could just analyze her body language, or something.

Rachel turned the door handle, again finding it unlocked. She really needed to remind Quinn to lock the door, she really didn't want her friend getting murdered.

Rachel closes the door behind her, locking it as well. She heads towards Quinn's main office. She still hasn't been in the other two rooms, and she didn't really feel like exploring now. She opens the second door, and locks that one as well.

The first thing she notices is the lamp on the desk is on. The second thing is Quinn lying passed out on her desk.

Really, Rachel should have expected this. After a short two months of friendship with Quinn, she's already figured out that Quinn is stressed out to an extent that, if she had thrown Rachel into the mix, she would've spontaneously combusted. Rachel walks over to where Quinn is lying down across her computer keyboard. She sees a document open on the computer, and she's glad the sound is off, because she can see a line of endless K's continuing on down the screen. She really hopes this isn't an important document.

Rachel tries to maneuver her hand under Quinn's lower back to reach the mouse, but Quinn jerks awake anyways. Quinn sits bolt upright, and bursts into tears.

"Oh, my god." Rachel panics, and Quinn turns to see her.

Quinn hadn't actually known Rachel was there, because if she _had _known she would've tried to stop crying before she started. Only Quinn was pretty sure she was having a panic attack. She hadn't had one in over a year, but she recognized it well.

"Oh, my god," Rachel repeats. "I'm sorry! What's going on? What happened?"

Quinn tried wiping her hands on her pants, attempting to remember the method a doctor had told her about to control her attacks. It had been so long, but it was right there on the tip of her tongue.

Suddenly, Rachel's arms are around her, and her heart beats so fast it feels like it's exploding, and her sobs turn into screams. She has no idea who's holding her, although at the same time she knows it's Rachel. She feels like she's dying, like she's going to die. Then there's Rachel's mouth, right by her ear.

"Sh, it's fine. I'm here. No one is going to hurt you. You're safe."

Quinn's screams turn back into sobs as Rachel keeps repeating the word safe. She might be saying something else, too, but Quinn only hears safe. Then, she's in the air. Floating, until suddenly she's not. She's lying down, on the floor. Rachel curls around her, still telling her she's okay, she's safe. Rachel's hand is slowly rubbing her back, in a means to comfort Quinn.

Finally, Quinn stops crying and her heart rate and breathing returns to normal. Her eyes are closed when she feels Rachel shifting to get up.

"Where are you going?" Quinn asks, her throat sore.

"I figured that-"

"No." Quinn says, tugging her arms out from where they were pinned, wrapping them around Rachel and holding her there.

"Are you drunk?" Rachel asks. "Because if you are, I don't think it's safe for me to be this close to you – I mean, you did-"

"No."

"And you don't want me to leave?"

"No."

"So, we're going to sleep on the floor."

"Yeah."

"Okay."

Rachel stayed stiff for a minute or two, waiting for Quinn to change her mind or to say something else, but eventually she could hear Quinn's breathing even out and deepen, and she was asleep. Rachel relaxed then, tucking her head into the nook of Quinn's shoulder, letting out a slow sigh at the fact that she finally had someone else to share the night with, instead of sleeping alone and having to take three pills just to get some shut-eye.

Breathing in Quinn's vanilla-like scent, happiness engulfed Rachel as she fell faster asleep, this time without any pills to help.

Quinn wakes up in the morning with the worst throat ache she's ever experienced. Literally, ever.

On the bright side, she wakes up with brown hair strewn across her face, evidently not hers. She turned her head to the side, trying to see the girl she knew she'd fallen asleep next to. Rachel Berry is still cuddled into Quinn, a sleepy grin visible on her face.

Quinn tries to discreetly sneak away, because she really needs to pee and get changed. Despite her efforts of trying to be quiet, Rachel wakes up anyways.

"Where are you going?"

Quinn's always heard people say that their boyfriend or girlfriends voice is the sexiest when they've just woken up, and she's always thought it was bull. Rachel, obviously, had to prove her wrong.

"I have to change." Quinn says.

"No."

"Yes, because it's 6:00 in the morning and I always wake up at six and because I have things I need to do."

"No, stay with me."

Obviously, Rachel is still half-asleep and has no idea what she's saying, but Quinn's heart twists in her chest anyways.

"I have to run errands. Why were you here last night anyways?"

Rachel groans and sits up, her hair on one side of her head knotted into a giant ball. The other side looks relatively untouched. Before settling to look at Quinn, Rachel stretches and groans loudly, spreading her legs in front of her to lean against the wall.

"I threw a toaster through the front window of my house."

"Oh, my god. Maybe you should come see me twice a week. Why?" Quinn cocks an eyebrow at the brunette in front of her.

"I was angry." Rachel's staring at her hands again, something Quinn's noticed she does often.

"I gathered that. Why were you angry?"

"Are you asking because you feel obligated to as psychiatrist or because you care?"

Quinn raises her eyes to look Rachel in the eye. "I'm asking because I care."

"Well, I was angry because my agent called me. He told me that I have four months here after Christmas. I was supposed to have longer."

"What's so bad about that?"

"I just – I wanted to – to get, something? And I needed longer, so now I'm going to have to speed things up. A lot."

"What were you trying to get?"

Rachel narrows her eyes for a moment before standing up. "That doesn't matter."

"It kind of does-"

"No, it doesn't. Come help me brush my hair. It's a mess isn't it?"

"Fine."

Quinn followed Rachel into the bathroom, reaching into her bag that she had left there the night before for a brush. Wordlessly, she handed it to the smaller brunette.

"My hair is always horrid when I wake up," Rachel says, more to herself than to Quinn. "I never understood why they called it beauty sleep."

Quinn hums in agreement, too busy studying her hair in the mirror behind Rachel to really from a response. After assuring her short hair wasn't too messy for work, she bent down to pick up her bag from next to the sink, but she stopped halfway down. Rachel had caught her eye, the brunette was struggling to get the brush through her hair and was making a face that made Quinn's heart skip. She stopped to watch the brunette before Rachel got the brush caught in her hair.

"This is the worst." Rachel whines, turning to face Quinn.

Quinn laughs lightly, standing up straight to remove the brush from Rachel's hair. "Let me help you."

Rachel nods, looking down at her feet, as Quinn runs the brush through her hair. Rachel cringed the first few times, but just zoned out throughout the rest of the process.

"You have very pretty hair." Quinn says softly, setting the brush down on the counter behind Rachel.

"Thank you." Rachel says.

Quinn stays where she is, and Rachel looks up to meet her eyes. She's ready to say something, but the look in Quinn's hazel eyes makes her forget her words. The blonde is staring right back into Rachel's eyes, a confused look making her eyebrows knit together slightly. Rachel doesn't dare look away, but she does notice the way Quinn licks her lips unconsciously, making the shorter girl wonder what she's thinking about.

"What are you thinking about?"

Quinn doesn't break eye contact with Rachel. "Honestly?"

"Yeah."

Quinn places her hands on Rachel's hips, contemplating which way to go about this. She doesn't have long to decide, so she just leans in and closes her eyes.

Rachel's heart thumps so hard and loud that she's pretty sure it has a jackhammer in there, trying to escape. Somehow, though, she manages to stay grounded. Maybe it's Quinn's hands on her hips, holding her in place.

When their lips meet, it's not for more than three seconds. However, in those three seconds, Rachel's heart seems to find it's way out of her chest, Quinn's problems seem to float away, and both of them are the happiest they've been in a long time. The kiss is short but very, very sweet.

"That's what I was thinking about." Quinn says.

"Awesome." Rachel grins, and for a moment, they stay like that.

Just grinning at each other, because everything's going to be alright.

Rachel walked the cold street by herself, her purse clutched to her front, her flats slipping on the ice-covered sidewalk. She had wrongly decided to take one of the less busy streets to get to the restaurant she had asked Quinn to meet her at. There were hardly any street lights to light her way, and the rarely used sidewalk hadn't thawed, while the busier streets had.

Somehow, she hadn't been photographed _with _Quinn, yet. Of course, she'd been photographed going to Quinn's office, but the pictures had slowed as she went regularly, her trips becoming boring to the media. She certainly wasn't being followed here, but she was starting to realize a few pictures was better than a broken arm from falling on her ass.

Luckily, she reached the main street – much busier than the back streets she had taken before – without breaking any bones. Rachel had invited Quinn to meet her at Per Se, apparently one of the top 10 most expensive restaurants in NYC. It was one of Rachel's favourites, the vegetarian menu was excellent. While the restaurant usually only accepted reservations made a month before, Rachel had manipulated the manager by using her status and money. She wasn't planning on telling Quinn that, though. She really didn't flag her as a girl who was going to be impressed by that.

Rachel opened the blue double doors of the restaurant, and revelled in the rush of heat that welcomed her. She put on her best smile and walked up to the man waiting to seat the customers.

"Name?" He asks.

"Berry." Rachel nods.

The man has a thick accent Rachel can barely understand, and as he nods and begins to lead her to her table, she struggles to keep up with him.

"Your companion is already here, your menus will be here in a moment."

The man sidesteps around Rachel, revealing Quinn sitting alone at their table. Rachel tries not to let her jaw drop at the sight of her date, dressed in a silk, body-hugging, black cocktail dress. Her short blonde hair is curled to frame her face, and her hazel eyes are focused on the table, not noticing Rachel. Rachel slides into the seat across from Quinn, her own red dress rubbing against her legs as she moves.

"Hey," Rachel greets, biting her lip and offering a smile.

"Rachel!" Quinn exclaims. "What the hell are we doing here?"

"What?" Rachel asks.

"This is like, the most expensive restaurant in New York!"

"Actually, it's only like the fourth expensive. But nice guess."

"_Rachel_!" Quinn slams her hand down on the edge of the table, gripping it hard.

"I think you need to calm down. People are staring." Rachel smooths out her dress and cocks an eyebrow at the fuming blond sitting in front of her.

"I hate you." Quinn seethes.

"I think you look beautiful tonight."

Quinn sighs, rubbing her hands over her eyes. "Are you going to do that a lot?"

"Do what a lot?"

"Make me really angry and then say something sweet?"

"Probably." Rachel nods.

A waitress comes along later, handing them both their menus. Quinn has a regular one while Rachel receives the vegetarian menu. Quinn gawks at the price and they argue about ti for a while, until their food comes. Rachel finds out Quinn is a huge lover of garlic bread.

"Do they have mints here, for after? Because my breath is going to smell horrible."

"Mm, I can smell it from here."

Quinn rolls her eyes, and takes another bite of her food. "You know," she says. "I'm going to have to cancel all of our sessions."

"What?" Rachel drops her fork. "Why? What did I do?"

"You asked me out."

Quinn picks up Rachel's fork and uses it to try something off her plate. Rachel is still too busy trying to figure out what Quinn means to notice.

"I don't understand." Rachel says.

"Yeah, I don't understand why you eat this either."

"No, I don't get it. Why are you cancelling all our sessions?" Rachel insists.

Quinn sits back in her chair. "Well, I don't know about you, but I fully plan on continuing this relationship, so..."

Quinn likes watching Rachel get stumped. She likes it even more when Rachel's face lights up with half-recognition.

"Okay," Rachel begins. "So I sort of get it... but explain why you're cancelling them, exactly."

"It's against the rules to date a patient, so I'm officially kicking you out of my office forever."

"So we're dating?"

"Yes, unless you don't want to." Quinn furrows her eyebrows, as if this is the first time she's considered this.

It's not.

"Oh!" Rachel reaches across the table, grabbing Quinn's hand from where it rests in her lap. "Of course I do. I just really want to keep seeing you – in and out of work, right? I want you to still be my therapist."

"Well, I can be. But you're not paying me, because that would be like prostitution."

"Are we having sex, now?" Rachel raises and eyebrow.

Quinn blushes. "You know what I mean."

"I do. But I want to pay you."

"No."

Rachel pulls her hand away. "Then we're not dating."

"Alright." Quinn says, standing up. "I'll see you later then. I assume you're paying – I _could _afford this place but I choose not to, so. Good-bye, Rachel."

Rachel rolls her eyes and watched Quinn walk towards the blue double-doors. She expects the blonde to turn around and come back, but she walks right out the door. Rachel's eyes widen, and not wanting to lose Quinn, she reaches into her clutch to pull out money to pay for what they ordered. She tosses it on the table and runs out of the restaurant, earning a few confused stares as she does.

Quinn's calling a taxi on the side of the road, her black dress blending in with the night. A taxi pulls over in front of her, and Quinn opens the door to get in. Rachel almost misses her, but she slides into the cab and lands on top of the blonde right before she shuts the door.

"Um, hello?" Quinn says.

"Sorry." Rachel grunts, shifting into the seat next to Quinn and buckling her seat belt.

"Where are we going?" The cabbie asks gruffly.

Rachel stays silent, glancing at Quinn out of the corner of her eye. She's been advised to not tell anyone she doesn't trust her address, because they could give it away. Despite all the publicity Rachel supposedly got, she liked her privacy.

Quinn let out a huff of air, and gave the cabbie her address. They drove in relative silence, the only sound was that of the tires hitting bumps in the road and the wind coming in the windows.

When they pull up to the apartment building, Rachel reaches to pay, but Quinn beats her to it. Quinn gets out of the cab without a word, and Rachel has to rush to keep up with her. The elevator ride up is silent, and Rachel can't even see Quinn's face, because she's looking at the floor and her hair is covering her expression. Rachel swears she hears her laughing about something, though.

Rachel follows Quinn to her apartment, having to run every few seconds to keep up. She can finally stand next to the blond as Quinn has to dig through her purse to find her keys. Rachel blows her hair off her face and opens her mouth to say something when Quinn gets the door open.

Rachel makes a move to follow her in, but Quinn turns around quick, winks at Rachel, and slams the door in her face.

Rachel stares at the offending object for a moment, the door that's blocking her way into Quinn's apartment. She hears the lock click on the other side. Rachel stands there, open-mouthed, for about a minute before the door opens again and she's grabbed by the collar.

Before she can react, Rachel is shoved against the door, Quinn's face inches from hers, and Quinn's body pinning her in place. Rachel blinks slowly, trying to understand her situation.

"Good evening, Rach."

"Evening, Quinn."

"How are you, babe?"

Rachel almost melts at the nickname, but she forces her self to keep talking. "Fine, how are you darling?"

Quinn narrows her eyes. "Lovely." She almost growls it.

Quinn pushes off the door, skulking into the centre of the room. Rachel follows, sitting down on the coach while Quinn paces in front of her.

"So, I was thinking..." Quinn stops in front of Rachel, cocking her head to the side and squinting her eye at her. "Since you're paying me, I should probably give you your money's worth, right?"

Rachel almost chokes. "What?"

Quinn walks around the black coffee table, her eyes never leaving Rachel. "You heard me."

Rachel shrinks into the couch as Quinn leans over, placing one hand on the left side of her head. Quinn tilts her head forward, pressing her lips gingerly to Rachel's. She does this four or five times, before lifting her knee up and placing it on the couch next to Rachel. She does the same with her other knee, until she's straddling Rachel. Quinn really kisses her now, forcing her mouth open with her own, and Rachel reaches her hands up, tangling them in Quinn's short hair, holding her roughly in place. A shiver rolls up Quinn's spine as Rachel moans loudly into her mouth. She has to resist groaning herself as Rachel's blunt nails dig into her scalp.

Rachel groans again, her tongue dancing over Quinn's, making the taller girl sigh. Rachel runs her hands down Quinn's back, up again, and down. Quinn's right hand makes it's way down Rachel's chest, massaging her breast through the fabric of her red dress.

Quinn finally parts her lips from Rachel's for air, and Rachel turns her head to the side, her eyes closed, and Quinn can hear her whimpering. Quinn moves her head down, her hand still kneading Rachel's chest, and starts biting at her neck. She sucks on the sensitive skin, making Rachel's whimpers turn into moans.

"Oh, fuck." Rachel groans

Quinn moves her head down further, peppering kisses along Rachel's collarbone. Then, without asking for permission, Quinn tugs Rachel's strapless dress down, revealing her breasts and hardened nipples. Quinn quickly goes to work, using her hand on one breast and her mouth on the other. She licks, sucks and bites, biting hard enough to leave a mark higher up towards where Rachel's cleavage would be. Quinn moves her mouth to Rachel's right breast, giving it the same treatment as before. She can hear Rachel whimpering and moaning above her, and she feels a rush of heat between her legs as Rachel grabs the back of her head and pulls her up for another searing kiss. Quinn moans into Rachel's mouth, and Rachel grinds her hips up, in desperate need of some sort of _friction_.

"God, Quinn." Rachel moans.

Rachel kisses Quinn's neck, leaving a mark to match her own. Quinn lets out a low moan, letting her hips grind down on Rachel's thighs. As Rachel tries to bring Quinn down for another kiss, Quinn places her hand on Rachel's chest, stopping her.

"What?" Rachel asks, her gravelly voice making Quinn regret what she was about to do.

"Darling," Quinn says, struggling to keep a straight face. "I don't fuck on the first date."

Rachel's jaw drops, and now, Quinn can't help but laugh. The brunette shoves her off her lap, and Quinn falls to the floor, curling up in a ball and laughing. Rachel stands up, pulling her dress up again and straightening it out. She tries to fix her hair but it's hopeless.

"You – you are _such _an _ass_!" She exclaims.

"Oh, my god! I know! Your face was perfect!" Quinn literally had tears in her eyes.

"You get me all hot and bothered just for a _joke_! I hate your guts, Quinn Fabray!"

"You – don't!" Quinn can barely breath, her sides are killing her.

"No, I am actually mad right now! Get off the floor!"

"No! I can't!"

"Did you do this to your first girlfriend, too? Dianna?"

Quinn's laughter stops abruptly, but she still finds it hard to breathe, yet for a very different reason.

It felt as if someone has just dropped and anvil on her chest, crushing her lungs and making it hard to breathe. She suddenly wants to scream, and she can feel a panic attack coming on. She sits up, trying to remember the method she'd found online to stop her panic attacks.

Alright, relax, take deep, slow breaths. Okay, now stop any negative thinking. Everything's alright, it's okay. Now, coping statements. It's okay, I'm not going to die, I'm just having a panic attack, it's okay. Then, accept your feelings. It's alright, Rachel just upset you. Nothing bad is happening.

Quinn opens her eyes, and she feels wetness on her cheeks. She sees Rachel next to her and she turns her head slowly to face her.

"Damn it, I'm so stupid. I'm so sorry, Quinn. I'm so sorry."

Rachel reaches a hand out, using her thumb to brush away at a wet spot on Quinn's cheek. Quinn just stares at her, in a daze. She knows what Rachel's apologizing for, but she doesn't like the way Rachel keeps on apologizing, over and over. Quinn places a hand on Rachel's face, making the brunette look up and quiet. Quinn gives her a soft kiss, and when they part, Rachel waits a moment before opening her eyes.

"I'm sorry." She repeats.

"I know. You didn't know I'd react that way. Can we just...go to sleep now?"

"Am I staying here?" Rachel is staring at the carpet. "I would completely understand if you'd prefer I'd leave, but it's just that I'm not supposed to give my address out to cabbies and it's late and I don't really feel like walking and I want to make sure you're okay..."

"Yes, Rach, you're staying here."

Rachel's insides swirl at the nickname, and they stand up together to get ready for sleep.

Rachel borrows an oversized shirt from Quinn and some pyjama shorts, with Quinn wearing similar attire. For some reason, Quinn had had a lot of extra toothbrushes, which was lucky in Rachel's situation. She had a bad taste in her mouth, giving Quinn two panic attacks in the process of one day. She felt like a horrible person.

Finally, after all the lights were turned out and Rachel was heading for the couch, Quinn peeked her head out of her bedroom.

"Where are you going?"

"To the couch – I was -"

"No. That couch is wildly uncomfortable, and you're sleeping in here." Quinn says.

"Quinn," Rachel begins. "I've already given you two panic attacks in one day – we just went out together for the first time - I don't think you really want me in your bed. I wouldn't want to feel like I was intruding."

Rachel stares at her hands, listening as she hears the soft scrunch of Quinn's bare feet on the white carpet.

"You wouldn't be intruding. You slept with me last night, why would it be so different on a bed? On the floor sounds more kinky, anyways."

Quinn grins down at the brunette, and Rachel lets out a light laugh. "Alright."

When Rachel wakes up in the middle of the night, something that happens often when she doesn't take any pills to help her sleep, she's encompassed in warmth. She finds Quinn's head resting in the crook of her neck, their legs tangled together and their arms wrapped securely around each other. Rachel looks down at her clutch on the floor by the bed, the little container holding her pills, and decides that she can go without them for another night.

Who needs drugs when you have Quinn Fabray, right?

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><p><strong>AN: Wow okay this took like two weeks? And it's not even the longest chapter. You guys better review or something, because I skipped my homework just to get this up. :3 Okay, so really, thank you for all the story alerts etc. etc! It means a lot, and the more reviews means the faster I write! (Maybe, I've never tested that theory.) Anyway! Hope you like, reviews are always appreciated.**


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